kiwis and salt don't mix
by Constance Greene
Summary: Since Hayner's smart, he has an idea. 'Let's make ice cream.' — HaynerPenceOlette


note.

twilight town crew, before roxas came in. ( hayner, pence & olette )  
gen!friendship!fic.

for **warm.summer.night**'s friendship contest! squee.  
promptword is 'kiwi.'

disclaimer: i don't own kh.

_kiwis and salt don't mix  
_because they just don't.

··¤··

In reality, it was the beginning of summer vacation and they were already bored.

"Technically it's the seventeenth day," Olette would remind Hayner whenever he groaned about the unusual flu of boredom going around this summer. "It feels like the five thousandth," He'd admit, and then the brunette would make a hopeless shrugging gesture. "Why are you complaining?" In which he would retort, "Because there's nothing else better to do!"

It wasn't as though they wanted to go back to school anytime soon – even Olette, who loved all the challenging work. They all knew that particular fact because of the 5th grade science fair she had bugged them into joining with her last year. Oh, had that been a blast. They had tested different types of bubblegum brands to see which had the longest lasting taste. Of course, they had to blow bubbles while they were chewing because that's simply what kids did.

"Ick, I have bubblegum in my hair!" Olette's hair had to be cut short that year as a result.

"Man, there's bubblegum all over my _mouth_!" Pence moaned, attempting to scrape the sticky substance off with his lower teeth.

"Heh, you look like you've been kissed by a girl with pink lipstick," Hayner had commented, pointing. He received a play-punch on his upper arm by Pence and had wailed about a nonexistent bruise on his bicep for weeks. He still muttered about it occasionally, wearing his invisible scar with sore dissent.

So, on the acclaimed seventeenth day, they were lounging in the Usual Spot ( a hangout they had recently discovered a year before ) on different odds and ends – slouching couches, threadbare chairs, and tattered boxes – when Hayner spoke up.

"I. Am bored. Out of my MIND." His hands shot up to grip either side of his head, digging the tips of his fingers into his temples. Pence reached over and awkwardly patted him on the back – he was testing out the emotional weather the unconsciously appointed leader displayed, but since he couldn't see his face, he had to be cautious and rely on the frustrated aura radiating around Hayner's tensed, coiled body. It wasn't unknown to the group ( or anyone in Twilight Town, for that matter ) that Hayner lashed out unexpectedly at times.

"Cool it, buddy. You'll give yourself a hernia."

"I don't even know what that is."

They were silent. They didn't either.

". . How about we play Scrabble?" Olette suggested timidly, raising her shoulders as she did so.

The dirty blond glanced up briefly. "Scrabble, Olette? You've got to be kidding me."

"I know," Pence piped up, raising a finger. "Let's get some ice cream."

"Better yet," Hayner interjected, "Let's make our own."

Olette measured the taller boy with her steady grass green eyes, the freckles in them standing out because of the pastel sun's rays creeping through the uneven ceiling. "This won't be like the science project, right?" Her voice was skeptical – Pence didn't blame her.

"Don't you guys trust me?" Hayner stood up, putting his hands on his narrow hips. "This'll be awesome."

Olette and Pence exchanged glances, both smiling slightly – but hesitantly. Once Hayner was onto something, he was onto something, and there was no stopping him.

"We can even sell it if it's good enough. Think of it – we'll make a fortune!" His brown eyes were far-off and distant, away in his own little idealistic dream world. Hayner's inner-theatre would probably be featuring him laughing and basking in piles of glittering golden munny right about now.

"But isn't that, like, cheating?" Pence asked, walking up to him slowly. "Mrs. Hannlon is the only one who sells sea-salt ice cream in town, and has been for twenty years."

"I don't like her," Hayner scoffed. "Besides, she needs a run for her money. It's about time Twilight Town needs a change! We'll be respected—"

"Yeah, as the only kids who sell ice cream in town," Olette commented.

"Or try to," Pence added jokingly.

The blond shook his head. "Such cynics!"

Pence and the sole girl there exchanged looks once more.

Then they looked back to Hayner.

"Alright, let's go make some ice cream."

··¤··

Hayner was experimenting with what they should call their ice cream on the walk to Olette's house. Or, excuse me; _his _ice cream.

"Hayner's Magical Sea-Salt Ice Cream!" He ejaculated, with a grandeur flourish of gesticulating.

"Hey, shouldn't _we_ be in the name, too?" Asked the other brown-eyed gang member, walking on the left of Hayner with his arms swinging loosely at his sides.

"It was my idea," Hayner reminded him.

"Yeah, but _we're_ going to help make it."

"Fine, fine." He waved him off. "But then the name'll be too long."

"What I don't understand is why we can't just call it sea-salt ice cream and leave it at that," Pence said, cupping his chin musingly.

"Because it needs creativity," Olette explained patiently. "How about Hayner, Pence, and Olette's Sea-Salt Ice Cream? We can always shorten it to HPO's Ice Cream, or something."

"HPO reminds me of HBO," Hayner commented.

"HP&O, then."

"Sounds like a law firm."

"Hayner, the aspiring lawyer," Pence said, and then sighed.

"You know it. The second you get a parking ticket, big guy, I'm your defending lawyer. Call me." He made a move to flip on imaginary sunglasses; Olette laughed.

"Pennerlette."

"What?" Hayner blinked his eyes, instantly thrown into disarray.

"It's all of our names combined."

"Sounds like a monster," He chortled.

"Oh, we're bad now," Pence declared, and laughed as Hayner bopped him lightly on the arm.

"Where's my name in there?"

"I'm guessing the 'ner' part." Said Olette.

"I'm more partial to the 'hay' part."

Pence rolled his eyes briefly. "Sorry, Hayner. I'll keep that in mind next time."

Arriving at the house, Hayner made the motion to go flying through the door; Olette called after him, "Take your shoes off before you get to the carpet! You know my mom hates that."

"Yeah, yeah!" He kicked off his sneakers, rushing into the kitchen without waiting for the other two. Pence wriggled out of his shoes, and Olette slipped out of hers and put them neatly on the edge of where tile met carpet. She walked into the kitchen, Pence trailing behind, to see that Hayner was rifling through the drawers and cabinets, his hand banging against loose pots and pans.

"We'll need a bowl," He declared, jerking one out of the cupboard as if it were feather-light. It clattered onto the countertop with resounding noise, Olette clapping her hands over her ears in distress as her kitchen was being torn apart by her friend before her very eyes.

Luckily her mom came in just in time, walking as though she was in a hurry and stumbling to a stop as she saw the carnage. Dishes were strewn everywhere, red and translucent bowls like blood clots and white blood cells upside-down and rolling across the counter. Drawers were open, displaying rows of disorderly knives and forks gleaming with silver ferocity. She pursed her lips and tried not to scream.

Instead, she kissed her daughter chastely on the cheek and tried to drag her eyes away from the damage. Not possible. "Hi, sweetie. What are you kids up to?" _What on _Earth _are you up to_, is what she wanted to ask.

"Oh, nothing, Mom," Olette said hurriedly. "We were just . . . looking for the ice cream scooper!" She whipped out the white plastic instrument from one of the open drawers, holding it up and smiling innocently. It was a little too beaming and prosthetic, but it convinced her mother anyway. Hayner and Pence were frozen and said nothing, staring at the adult and waiting for her to leave.

"All right . . . don't eat too much," She added warily, briefly rubbing her forehead.

"We won't, Mrs. Miyoki." Hayner replied tamely.

She paused a moment, wondering if she could believe the blond. He was a wild thing, that was for sure – he and the bigger boy would certainly wolf down a gallon of ice cream if they were left alone with it. But she held her tongue. "I'm going to go to the grocery store. If you need anything, now's your last chance."

Hayner raised his hand. "Can I have some chips?"

"If you think we're going to put those in the ice cream, you're mad," Olette whispered fiercely in his ear.

"No, I'm just hungry."

Pence clutched his stomach. "Me too."

Olette rolled her eyes. Boys and their stomachs were generally impossible.

"Chips . . ." Her mother said, making a mental note. "Anything else?"

"Uh," Pence began shyly, "and maybe seaweed?"

They all turned their heads to stare at him.

"_Seaweed_?"

"Yuck," Hayner verbally exclaimed, making a face and poking his tongue out.

"It goes in ice cream . . . doesn't it?"

Olette shook her head slowly, as if in a daze.

Her mother came back into motion. ". . All right then. Chips." Seaweed was definitely not on the list. The middle-aged woman bent over stiffly to kiss her daughter on the cheek, patting her curls. "Love you, Olette.

"Be good," She called behind her, a nervous warning that may undoubtedly go unheeded. But at least she didn't want to be around when whatever ruckus began.

"Finally, she's gone," Groaned Hayner, flipping over a dish with his palm.

"Don't do that, you'll scratch up the table top," Olette advised.

Pence was leaning against the counter, watching the two bicker like an old married couple. The thought nearly made him snicker, but he repressed it, and put on his business-like attitude. "Okay. What makes ice cream?"

"Cream," Said Olette.

"Ice," Said Hayner.

"And salt," Said Pence.

Then there was silence.

". . Is that it?"

"Sea-_salt_-_ice_-_cream_. Duh, Pence."

"Then how is it blue?"

"The sea?" Olette suggested.

"The ice, of course!" Hayner defended.

The trio gathered up a bowl big enough to fit a cat in ( and I say this only because Hayner held up Olette's black feline, Houdini, and said, "Hey Olette, let's cook this!" while she shrieked in protest ), and poured all of the freezer's icebox contents into the waiting container. The ice cubes were too oddly-shaped and awkwardly large, so they had to reduce their size somehow to get them to become ice crystals.

So they tried the blender.

Bad idea.

Hayner, who always wanted to get ahead of things and thought absolutely nothing out, rushed ahead of the game and turned on the blender before the lid was on. Ice shards flew around the kitchen like a violent hurricane of hail, creating small red welts on the children's arms and the parts of their faces that they did not cover with their hands. Once the blizzard ceased, Olette chased Hayner around the kitchen with a large metal spoon.

They poured what they could gather into the bowl, and mentally measured out the cream – some of which Pence accidentally spilled over the side, splattering the floor with ivory blotches of thick milk.

The salt was next: a waterfall of sodium crystals dove into the mixture, perhaps more than the sea could even hold. They stirred it in and stood on their tip-toes to peer into the finished product.

What they saw wasn't blue.

"Um, Olette? You got food colouring?"

She sniffed. "My dad doesn't like artificial colouring. Sorry."

Hayner made a stifled noise that could have been a curse.

"This doesn't look like ice cream . . . at all . . ." He admitted, face contorting into a perturbed expression.

Pence examined it further, quirking a brow. "It looks like . . . what my cat throws up after she eats chicken."

"Too much information."

"Sorry, but it does."

"Maybe once we put it the freezer, it'll look better?" The girl with chestnut locks suggested hopefully.

"We need a magical freezer for that, I think," Pence said with dry sarcasm.

Hayner began to walk around the kitchen. "What we need . . . is . . ." He stopped and glanced at the counter, picking something up. "What's this?"

Olette stepped forward to see what her friend was talking about. It was a small, round, fuzzy brown thing that fit in the palm of his hand. "That's a kiwi, Hayner."

"A kiwi?" He furrowed his brows. "Looks like a dead baby gopher to me." He shrugged, and then suddenly dropped it into the bowl.

"_Hayner_! What are you doing?"

"That's our secret ingredient."

"You can't put a kiwi in the ice cream!"

"Why can't I?"

"Because kiwis and salt don't mix."

"Why not?"

"They just don't!"

"Fine, Olette," He muttered. "Don't have a cow."

Pence made a 'moo'ing noise from behind, and she playfully nicked his shoulder.

They dug the sunken kiwi up from the slushy substance, dripping with watery cream. The crushed ice was beginning to melt, and the salt hadn't yet dissolved – it seemed as though it never would.

"I'm . . . sort of agreeing with the cat thing, now," Said Hayner, blinking.

As though a light bulb had just gone off over her head like in cartoons, Olette spoke up. "I know! We can go down and buy an ice cream from Mrs. Hannlon and compare! Maybe we can think of what else to put in it, then."

Hayner backed up, waving his hands. "_I'm_ not going. Last time, I got in trouble by trying to snag an extra bar . . ."

"Hayner! Why would you do that?"

The heavier boy snorted. "Because he's Hayner?"

"For _that_ comment, I elect Pence."

"Why is it always me?" Said youth objected, but complied anyway with the limping of his arms.

While they waited for Pence to return from his errand, Hayner began to meticulously place popsicle sticks into the 'ice cream.' They floated for a moment, tilted, and then fell over flat onto the liquid's uneven surface. Olette sighed quietly, not bothering to tell him to stop this time.

After a few minutes, he began to grow frustrated. She could sense his temper rising, and knew well that Hayner was not the most patient person on Earth. A pity, really; he'd be so much better to hang around with then ( but he was still one of the best friends she had, and secretly nothing would change that ).

"Where is he?! He probably got distracted and is . . . _window-shopping_ now!"

The only thing worse than window-shopping was regular shopping, or clothes shopping. Hayner looked on at Olette and Pence's pastime activities with disdain.

"You're the smartest here, Olette! Why can't you make this work?"

"I've only tried baking cookies and cakes, Hayner," She replied calmly.

"Baking is for losers," He scoffed.

"Isn't that what we are?" She smiled slightly. "We can't even make simple ice cream . . ."

"Losers, schmoozers," Hayner lilted. "The only losers around town are Seifer and his gang."

Olette didn't disagree.

"I know what we _really_ are," Said a voice behind them, causing them to turn around. "A group of really good buddies that take things too literally." Pence smiled, standing in the kitchen's doorway. "I mean, really. How could something like _this_ just be made out of ice, salt, and cream?" He held up three bars of pale turquoise desserts out to them. "They look simple, but are really a lot more complicated than we think. Like people, you know?"

"Pence, you've killed me with your logic," Concluded Hayner. Depth was never his thing.

"You mean adults," Olette corrected, replacing 'people' in Pence's speech. They all laughed – the mysteries and problems of adults were far out of reach at their age of 11. In the present, all they could do or hope for was to have fun, and not get their childhoods taken away from them.

"Sorry, guys," Pence apologized, handing out the ice cream to them. "I figured we'd never perfect the art of making ice cream, so I figured we should just eat some of the real stuff. . . And I was scared to try the monstrosity of what we made."

"It's like the school's mystery meatloaf," Said Hayner.

"Maybe there's a recipe online," Mused Olette, taking a lick out of her ice cream.

"Maybe," Pence said. "But right now, I just want to chill."

"Chillaxing," Hayner said.

"Chillaxing with my best friends," Said Pence in a musing tone.

"Let's make a toast," Olette proposed.

"To what?"

"To us, of course!"

"And our failure at making ice cream."

"Of _trying_ to, anyway."

"To the Losers!" They said in unison, clacking the tips of their ice cream bars together.

"Uck, Pence, now I have your germs and Olette's cooties."

"You're the one who smushed your ice cream against mine—"

A rather cheerful, unusual voice floated into the room. "Kids, I'm home!"

"Oh no, my mother," Olette whispered hurriedly, and they all rushed to appointed stations to try and clean up the mess they had made.

Hayner was scooping salt into his shirt, Olette was mopping up the spilled cream with a paper towel and Pence was kicking ice chips under the refrigerator when her mother walked in. She had a hand covering her eyes like a blindfolded victim. "The house isn't wrecked, is it?"

"Everything's _fine_, Mom," Said Olette, accentuating the 'fine' when she swiped the paper towel behind her back after giving the counter one last scrub.

She removed the hand from her eyes, gave the kitchen a quick check-over, and smiled. "Good. I got you guys some seaweed . . . I hope this was the right kind?"

The three stared at the package of kelp held before them with expressionless eyes, and then they began to laugh. And laugh. And then they laughed some more. Soon, Olette was bent over clutching her stomach with both hands, Hayner was shaking, and Pence was about to fall on the floor and begin to roll over, laughing.

Olette's mother watched this, vaguely horrified. Kids; she would never understand them. They had their own secrets, just as she did. Both were completely separate from one another, having absolutely no place next to each other.

She guessed she never would understand them. Sometimes the bond between friends ran too deep, and you couldn't interrupt it.

··¤··

The next day, Olette had cooked seaweed and a slightly damp kiwi for lunch. They all laughed; until she stuffed the kiwi in Hayner's mouth.

"Urgh, I _knew_ I wouldn't like it."

··¤··

afternote.

Ahaha. I think it was actually kind of cute. :x I hope/think. Anyway, I _guess_ I liked it. Tell me what you thinkk.

The Losers Club is from _It_ by Stephen King.


End file.
